


Barycentric

by venvephe



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space Opera, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Making Out, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 09:15:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12454248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venvephe/pseuds/venvephe
Summary: “Sorry,” Tyler says, though he can feel a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s not particularly sorry for swinging at Nemeth, as a matter of fact. Jamie probably already knows that. “For causing you a bureaucratic headache, oh captain my captain.”Jamie waves him off, rolling his eyes. “That’s what captains are for, eh? There’ll be a few emails. I’ll have a call with Landeskog, he’ll deal with Nemeth - and once the rumor mill has had its fill, that’ll be the end of it.”“I don’t expect it to be quite that easy,” Tyler snorts. “The first mate’s first fistfight? In the middle of the bridge? The boys won’t be letting this one go for a while.”Jamie turns to look at him, then, his eyes still warm but his lips pressed together as he thinks. Tyler’s breath catches in his chest at the sudden force of being Jamie’s sole focus of attention, and he resists the urge to rub his cheek, where the blood has dried into the hair of his beard.“I think they had a better reaction to that fight that you give them credit for,” Jamie says carefully, “but thatdoesbring up the point of disciplinary action.”





	Barycentric

**Author's Note:**

> Listen: I'm really not surprised to be writing something in the wake of Tyler Paul Seguin's first NHL fight. I'm just surprised that my brain took that and ran _all the way to outer space._
> 
> I've actually wanted to write a space-setting AU for a while, and what better excuse than the "Free Space" on my October Bennguin Bingo card? My eternal love to Sarah, who is an incredible cheerleader and hand-holder and editor, when I need an extra set of eyes and someone to shout with. Also to the rest of the bingo card game, the amazing ladies I get to shout about Bennguin with!
> 
> This is kind of intentionally vaguely Star Trek or Mass Effect without really committing to one or the other. Maybe I'll explore this universe again at some point - I'm a sucker for sci-fi, and fandom could always use some good space opera content. With a name like the Dallas Stars, it's kind of meant to happen, right?
> 
> Enjoy!

 

 

_Barycentric, adj: Referring to the barycentre, the point between two orbiting bodies where they balance each other._

 

Tyler staggers out of the bridge, one hand smearing through the mess below his nose and the other reaching shakily for the button that activates the ‘lift. He blinks sweat out of his eyes, blood still thundering in his ears as he waits. It’s only a few heartbeats before the ‘lift hisses quietly up into place, doors sliding open with tell-tale exhale of airlock pressure. He’s gotta get out of this goddamn hallway, off this goddamn _deck_.

There’s not enough fucking _room_ to be pissed off in space.

He jabs the button for a deck he know’ll be deserted in third shift, doesn’t even hesitate in using his First Mate access code to ensure that the ‘lift won’t be interrupted on the way down. No one needs to see him like this - and more than that, he’s in no state to see or deal with _other people_ right now.

God, the arrogant fucking _dickbag._

He knows they’re supposed to maintain at least _decent_ diplomatic relationships with the crews of the rest of the fleet - and _Avalanche-Sigma_ isn’t even the biggest fish to fry, when it comes to inter-ship rivalries. And he knows he’s supposed to be a good role model for his own crew, especially with the rookies just starting to pick up shifts on the bridge. Not to mention that it still hasn’t been very long since his promotion to first mate; punching a visiting engineer in the face isn’t going to look good to the superior officers who made that staffing decision.

Tyler runs his tongue over his teeth; there’s a metallic tang in his throat from the blood, but hey. You should see the other guy.

And damn if Nemeth hadn’t deserved it.

The ‘lift pings and Tyler forces his fists to unclench, striding out into the clean, fluorescent hallway. It’s quiet down here, just as he predicted - though, like the rest of the ship, it’s impossible to escape the low, ever-present hum of the engines. He’s not far enough aft to really hear it, to _feel_ the vibrations deep in his chest, but the sound is still steadying. It’s a small comfort, one that eases the pounding of his heart as he walks.

He doesn’t pass anyone along the long, curving hallway. That’s good, it’s _fine_ \- but it’s only another reminder that it’s the middle of shift, and everyone on board is where they should be, except for him.

Tyler’s hand isn’t trembling, now, when he presses his fingertips to the biometrics and the door at the end of the corridor slides open. It’s a vast, cavernous dark beyond the doorway, the only light provided by a thin, glowing runway-strip of soft blue lights where the walls and floor meet. But that suits Tyler just fine; he steps inside and the fluorescent, space-clean world shuts out behind him.

Alone, in the dark, he feels like he can finally start to breathe.

It doesn’t take too long for his eyes to adjust to the dark, and after a few calming inhale-exhales, Tyler wipes his nose on his sleeve - it’s stopped gushing, at least - and follows the wall. He trails his fingertips along it, counter-clockwise to the other side of the room, his world narrowed to the rush of felted bulkhead against his skin. He’s rounded to the opposite side of the room when his fingers gloss over the inset glass panel, which brightens to the same gentle blue under his touch. Tyler drags his finger across the display, sliding the digital button from _closed_ to _open._

There’s not even a sound as the wall to his left pulls back, the quiet whine of servos and actuators revealing a great panel of floor-to-ceiling glass. It’s inky, opaque at first, but the darkness fades as the glass clears like a fog evaporating from the surface of a mirror, revealing what lies beyond.

This is what he came here for.

One by one, and then thousands by thousands, the stars fade into view. There’s a great swath of pale purple-pink dusted with gold running diagonally through space, pinpricks of light clumped dense at the center and then scattered, as far as Tyler can see through the window. _Dallas-Echo’_ s windows must be facing the nucleus of the galaxy, he thinks distantly, for space to be putting on such a beautiful display.

With the great arm of the galaxy spanning horizon to horizon, Tyler just looks, and breathes. Sure, he can see space through the great wall-sized windshield on the bridge, too, but it’s cluttered with digital overlays and computer readouts. Nothing compares to the quiet, private magnitude of the unbroken view in the meditation chamber.

The tension unwinds from his shoulders in increments, until his heart has steadied to its normal tempo and his sweat has cooled against his skin. He’d lean his forehead against the glass - he’s done it before, there’s nothing like pressing your cheek against the half-meter barrier between you and the airless void of space - but he knows he’d leave a damp imprint. It’s tempting, though, now that the heady rush of anger has left him with only simmering defensiveness.

Spending some time in the dark and the quiet with a good view of the galaxy really helps, in that regard. If only other feelings were so easy to banish.

“Thought I might find you here.”

Tyler freezes, and then forces himself to relax. It’s just his captain - it’s just Jamie.

But his reason for beating a hasty retreat from the bridge were twofold: firstly, because spending another fucking minute breathing the same air as the Av’s least-capable engineer would have made Tyler throttle him, rather than punch him.

And secondly: because when you’ve clocked the man who’s insulted your commanding officer so hard that he bounces when he hits the deck, it can’t be that hard for your crewmates to make the logical leap to _someone’s got a soft spot._ And if Tyler’s being honest, _soft spot_ is putting it lightly.

So it’s not that he doesn’t want to see Captain Benn, per se. He’d just hoped that he’d have more than twenty minutes to collect himself before having to be in the same room with him, after - _that._

Tyler clears his throat and half-turns, finally glancing away from the expanse of stars. “You didn’t have to ask Faksa to pull up the bio access logs to see where I’d gone?”

“Well…” Jamie trails off, reaching up to scratch at the line of his jaw. With just the light from the galaxy behind him, Tyler can only barely make out the faint blush working its way onto Jamie’s cheeks. “It was quicker than playing hide-and-seek, with you tearing through the ship and scaring the rest of the crew. Spezza agreed to take the helm for twenty minutes while I came down.”

“I’m not that scary,” Tyler says, “and you know - you _know_ I wouldn’t go around biting anyone’s head off. I’m not like that.”

Jamie’s eyebrows climb a little, and he leans back against the far wall. His hands go into his pocket, and for all that the pose is casual, Tyler can’t help the way his heart ticks up its tempo. He’s seen Jamie do this before, settling into a more relatable stance before giving one of his Captainly Talks to whatever crew member needed a lecture. “Before this shift, I wouldn’t have said you were one to throw a punch at a someone from a visiting ship, either.”

Tyler winces. Okay, that much was true. “Took me by surprise too, if you can believe that.”

Jamie tilts his head, considering. Tyler doesn’t know what Jamie sees in his face, silhouetted against the cloudy swath of stars, but he sighs and pushes away from the wall to step closer. His footfalls are hushed against the carpeting; somehow, that makes it more intimate.

“We’ve been crewmates - friends - for a long time,” Jamie starts, “hell - you’re my best friend as well as my First Mate, Ty. We’ve served together for a long time, with a lot of different guys - I’ve never seen anyone get under your skin so quickly before, not like that.”

Tyler’s ears burn at the fond nickname, and he averts his gaze to look out at the galaxy again. It’s easier than meeting the question in Jamie’s eyes. He can’t very well say _well, no one’s gotten under my skin like_ you _, before._

“Nemeth said something... _unkind_ about your abilities as captain of the _Dallas-Echo_. Unkind _and_ untrue,” Tyler adds. “It doesn’t bear worth repeating, to say the least.”

Jamie _hmms,_ crossing his arms over his chest as he comes to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him, gazing out into space. “Something I need to bring up with Landeskog?”

“God, no,” Tyler wrinkles his nose. “Not the content of it, anyways. There’s no need to grace his pretty ears with that kind of garbage. I...imagine you’ll have to tell him something, though.”

“Well, we’ll be returning his comms engineer with a black eye,” Jamie shrugs one shoulder. Even from the side, Tyler knows him well enough to tell that he’s got the start of a rueful smile on his face. “Even if we don’t file a report, he’ll want an explanation.”

“Sorry,” Tyler says, though he can feel a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He’s _not_ particularly sorry for swinging at Nemeth, as a matter of fact. Jamie probably already knows that. “For causing you a bureaucratic headache, oh captain my captain.”

Jamie waves him off, rolling his eyes. “That’s what captains are for, eh? There’ll be a few emails. I’ll have a call with Landeskog, he’ll deal with Nemeth - and once the rumor mill has had its fill, that’ll be the end of it.”

“I don’t expect it to be quite that easy,” Tyler snorts. “The first mate’s first fistfight? In the middle of the bridge? The boys won’t be letting this one go for a while.”

Jamie turns to look at him, then, his eyes still warm but his lips pressed together as he thinks. Tyler’s breath catches in his chest at the sudden force of being Jamie’s sole focus of attention, and he resists the urge to rub his cheek, where the blood has dried into the hair of his beard.

“I think they had a better reaction to that fight that you give them credit for,” Jamie says carefully, “but that _does_ bring up the point of disciplinary action.”

It’s amazing how quickly Tyler shivers and flushes in quick succession. With just the two of them, inches apart in the half-dark, so close that Tyler can feel the body heat radiating from his captain - there’s only one thing that comes to mind at the words _disciplinary action._

It probably wouldn’t count as punishment, though, considering how badly Tyler wants to be on his knees in front Jamie every day of the week.

That’s probably not a good line of thought, not when they’re alone like this. But it’s all too easy for his mind to conjure up a host of tempting images, a flush flooding Tyler’s cheeks as their gazes lock.

Maybe that’s why, when he opens his mouth to reply, he says: “What _do_ you want to do with me, Jamie?”

It’s out of his mouth before he can think twice, and they’re so close that Tyler can see the moment Jamie’s eyes dilate, the way they go wide and dark at his words. He swallows thickly, throat bobbing, a blush forming across the bridge of his nose. His nostrils flare, fingers clenching in the fabric of his own uniform shirt, like he’s considering - like he’s considering -

 _Fuck,_ if this isn’t the hottest thing Tyler’s ever seen. Because there’s no _way_ this is anything other than _Jamie Benn sizing him up,_ and he can’t believe he still has enough blood in the rest of his body to form coherent thoughts.

Jamie’s hands fall to his sides and he steps into Tyler’s space.

Tyler nearly trips over his own feet to shuffle backwards, letting Jamie bully him towards the window until his back meets the glass. It’s cool, like he knew it would be, a heady contrast to the warm body boxing him in. Jamie doesn’t let up and Tyler’s dizzy with it, with the sensation of his captain’s heavy breath against his face and the heat of his palm when he reaches up to cup the back of Tyler’s neck.

“What I _want_ to do with you,” Jamie breathes, his voice pitched deeper than Tyler’s ever heard it, “deserves to last longer than the time we have left before someone comes looking. But for now...I can do this.”

Tyler’s about to open his mouth to ask what _this_ is when Jamie presses closer and their lips touch.

None of his fantasies could have ever lived up to this.

Jamie’s lips are as soft as they look, and he’s insistent, eager with his kisses in a way that leaves Tyler panting. Their mouths slot together again and again; Tyler tilts his head for a better angle, and nearly whines at the first touch of Jamie’s tongue. Between one breath and the next he has the wherewithal to reach out and get his hands on Jamie, too - and Jamie’s broad shoulders feel strong and perfect under Tyler’s arms, just as he always knew they would.

Tyler writhes against the glass and Jamie’s thigh slots between his in one easy movement, and _Christ,_ he’s as hard as Tyler is. Their uniform pants aren’t very forgiving, but just the _feel_ of him, knowing that Jamie’s as into it as he is, sends sparks up Tyler’s spine.

 _“Fuck,”_ Tyler gasps against Jamie’s mouth when they come up for air. His head thunks back against the window as he tries to catch his breath, exposing the long line of his throat to Jamie’s ministrations. “Was it the punching a dude that did it for you? Because seeing _you_ fight sure does it for me. If I’d known - ”

“It’s you,” Jamie whispers, voice muffled against Tyler’s skin as he nips and licks. He’s going to have quite a few above-the-collar hickies if Jamie keeps this up. “It’s always just been you, Ty.”

The hot weight coiling in Tyler’s gut settles a little at that, and he tips his chin to recapture Jamie’s lips. This time it’s something slower, something tender, the heat between them simmering and comfortable. When they finally pull away with a wet smack, Tyler opens his eyes to find Jamie beaming at him, face pink with beard-burn and slicked-back hair falling into his face. The glow of the galaxy is reflected in his eyes, and Tyler’s never seen anything so beautiful.

“Hey,” he says softly, unable to keep the smile off his own face.

Jamie chuckles and leans their foreheads together; his eyelashes tickle against Tyler’s cheek. “Hey yourself.”

They stand quietly for a moment, soaking in the starlight as their breathing evens, as their hearts slow in tandem. Jamie’s the first one to pull away, giving Tyler’s waist a final squeeze before reaching up to run his fingers through his own hair. Tyler giggles; it’s a lost cause. Not that he has any grounds for criticism - there’s no _way_ he could get away with returning to the bridge without catcalls from the rest of the crew. _Rumpled_ doesn’t even begin to cover the state of his uniform.

“We’re going to talk about this later,” Tyler decides, as they’re putting themselves to rights. Jamie looks up from messing with his shirtsleeves, giving him a dimpled grin.

“If _talking’s_ what you want to do later, sure.”

Tyler whistles, eyebrows raised. “Who _is_ this new Jamie Benn? Pinning me to walls, making innuendos - are you sure the Avs didn’t bring some kind of personality-altering space infection with them when they boarded the ship? Did my fight _change_ you?”

“How many conversations do we have to have in which I tell you that sex pollen doesn’t exist?” Jamie sighs, feigning exasperation, but Tyler can see through him well enough to know that Jamie’s genuinely amused. He steps forward, and - because he wants to, because he _can_ \- loops his arms around Jamie’s neck.

“Maybe at least one more,” Tyler grins.

“But that reminds me,” Jamie says, eyes flitting to glance down the side of Tyler’s face, “you should go get your face checked out in the medbay. I can dismiss you from the rest of your shift, should give you plenty of time to get cleaned up before shift change.”

Tyler pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “It was like, two hits that he got in! The blood just looks dramatic - I feel fine.”

“The swelling will still suck if you don’t get some ice on it - on your knuckles, if nothing else.”

And Jamie, the know-it-all-Captain that he is, laces his fingers with Tyler’s to bring his hand up to eye level. His knuckles do look a little raw, actually. It’s hard to feel much of anything besides fizzy, post-makeout delight coupled with the indescribable euphoria of _he likes me back!_

“I could order you to report to the medbay, you know,” he points out.

Tyler snorts; like _that’s_ stopped him before. “I really just want to shower and change, my hands will be fine.”

“I could order you back to your quarters, if that’s what you want to hear,” Jamie counters.

Tyler smirks. “Order me back to _yours.”_

Jamie laughs, which is exactly what Tyler wanted, but there’s a gleam in his eye that reveals he’s actually half-considering it. Tyler’s stomach twists pleasantly, and he bites his lip as he reluctantly puts a stop to _that_ pleasant idea. Walking down the public corridors wouldn’t be easy, if his brain kept following those thoughts.

“I wouldn’t want to take advantage of my position as captain by doing that,” Jamie says, and rolls his eyes at Tyler’s waggled eyebrows, waving him off before he can say _please, Jamie, show me your position as captain._ “But maybe I’ll invite you over for coffee after dinner in the mess.”

“Maybe?” Tyler chuckles. Like either of them will be thinking about anything else between now and then.

“Maybe,” Jamie shrugs, still smiling. “Who knows, eh?”

They pull apart reluctantly, fingers linked as long as possible as they shuffle towards the door. Tyler drops Jamie’s hand to tap the glass panel that closes the great window, and they watch it close over their shoulders in companionable silence.

“Do I need to get into another fight to earn some more _disciplinary action_?” Tyler asks as the door slides open with a hiss.

Jamie’s smile is even brighter in the normal fluorescent light of the ship. “I’d prefer it if you _didn’t_ punch any of our crewmates, actually. But I’m sure you’ll come up with something.”

They get into the waiting ‘lift side by side, eyes catching as they sneak glances at one another and grinning when it keeps happening. Tyler rolls his eyes when Jamie presses the button for the medbay deck as well as the bridge, but he doesn’t complain. It’s only a few moments before the ‘lift slides open, though, and it’s time for them to part ways.

At least for now.

“Seventeen-hundred in the mess?” Jamie asks, and Tyler grins.

“I’ll be there,” he nods, quirking his eyebrows, “and I hope you’ll be ready.”

Jamie huffs a laugh at him, shaking his head, and just for that Tyler gives him a firmer-than-usual tap on the ass on his way out, throwing a wink over his shoulder as the ‘lift door closes on Jamie’s amused and pink face. It’s an image that will last Tyler through the poking, prodding, and lecture from the ship doctors. At least the ordeal will give him a little time to plan up something for his captain.

Jamie’s right, after all: he’ll think of something.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as [venvephe](http://venvephe.tumblr.com/) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/ven_writes) as well!


End file.
